


Mr. Blue

by Lil_Sparrow



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Inspired by Music, Sweet, Talking, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Sparrow/pseuds/Lil_Sparrow
Summary: Crane has trust issues. Ivy does her best to help ease them up.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Pamela Isley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	Mr. Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyhereforthesmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyhereforthesmut/gifts).



> A small gift for @omlyhereforthesmut  
> Love your works!

He blinked, sitting up, trying to understand where was he. It was still dark outside, silence interrupted only by a clock on the opposite wall. He was at his apartment, but not alone.   
Red locks tickled him a bit, her hair covered both of their pillows, which already didn't have much space to them, considering that his bed wasn't meant for two people. Man loomed over her, watching, holding his breath as not to scare away the delusion. It wasn't their first time, no. It's been going around for two months now and, to be honest, he still felt like every night is going to be the last one. Gently slipping out from under the covers, he opened a window, ever so slightly, just enough to let in some fresh air. Even if it seemed nearly impossible – there still was a chance for the Bat to be close. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of appearing naked in front of his archenemy or one of his birdies. He inhaled clean, as much as a megacity can offer, air and placed both of his arms at the windowsill, covering wrists with his chin. Cold bit in exposed skin and Scarecrow arched his back, noticing how it cracked a few times. Was it really two months? With _her_? _The_ Poison Ivy? Any other man would kill to be in his shoes. But he was just confused. And the more he thought about, the more confusion built up, making him angry on himself. He liked being with her. Liked when she was around. Liked that his bed, after all those years, wasn't empty anymore. Liked sharing a damn cup of coffee in the morning. He's supposed to be happy, but instead he fills like running away. There should be a catch. Relationships, especially close ones, never worked out for him. They end up like shit, making his, and sometimes both of the parties, disappointed and hurt. Nevertheless, knowing all of this, he just watched how it was slowly falling off the same cliff. Does she want his research? She wants to use him? But how? He isn't a mutant, not like her, he doesn't have any powers, just his intelligence.   
He hated her. From the day she decided to sit next to him on the break. From the moment she started talking. Why couldn't she pick Dent or someone else? Even now he wasn't sure what made her do this, what, dare he say, **_interested_** her in him. _"Shush, Jonathan, it's just a game. Sex. Nothing more. She gets what she wants, you get what you want and it's over, like a trade."_ Yes, it's easier if you look at the situation from that angle. However, it didn't fill up the hole of emptiness inside, eating him alive. He never stopped telling himself the objective facts, but they didn't help. What's that she found in him?  
Oh, he sounded just like a teenager now. Yes, of course, he's a genius. But since when it's considered being physically attractive? His body wasn't exactly inviting, just surprisingly strong for someone of his stature. He had muscles, poorly defined compared to other male villians, that were covered by a thin layer of too pale to be healthy skin, topped with countless scars all around. His nose looked weird because of how many times it got broken, sharp cheekbones made his face even more angular, and a powerful jaw seemed almost out of place. In traditional sense of being beautiful he had only his height and shoulders. His appearance wasn't welcoming even if you didn't know who he was, big blue eyes overlooking everyone around him with disgust and strange hatred. So why choose him? It would ruin the moment, but he still sometimes wanted to ask her, to understand was there a particular reason or he was just digging too deeply into things. At the same time, it would be like raising a flag of shame, a hymn of weakness. It would be the end of everything and after that she can tell everyone how stupid that Scarecrow is, that he really believed she found something in him when it was all just a game. Like Sharry, like Linda. And his fall will be even painful than the last ones.   
Crane almost jumped when silky smooth hands ran around his waist and someone elses warm weight pressed against his bare back. Her lips landed on one of his vertebras, before pushing her cheek against it.

"Why are you up?"

He moved his shoulder, not saying anything, bending under her. There wasn't anything sexual about it. They aren't going to do another round. So why is she doing that? He wouldn't blame her ~~(well, at least he thought so)~~ if she was about to pick up her stuff and leave or if she decided to go back to sleep. Instead she got up to hug him from behind. _**Fucking Isley**_. They stayed like this for a few minutes before his elbows started to swell and he pushed away from windowsill.   
"You want me to close the window?"  
"Nah, I don't mind," Pamela yawned, releasing him, "Are you going to bed or you'd prefer standing in the middle of a room with that face of yours? You always do it," he quietly gasped, when she suddenly shoved him back at the mattress, climbing over.   
"What face are you talking about?" psychiatrist covered them with a blanket, waiting for an answer.  
"Well, you know, when you usually look at everyone like you want to stab them to death?" his brows began to raise, "but now you appear… to be doomed? Like you know that you're going to die right now and you've already accepted your fate and just wait for death."  
He frowned at that.  
"What's the big idea?"   
Did he really look like that? Like he was being crucified? All his emotions weren't as invisible as he thought they were. It was only more upsetting. Everything inside stiffened. In the books and movies it was so easy, each lover knew what to say and how to act around when together. And he? He wanted to run away from his own house.   
"I know that you probably won't provide a legitimate answer, you're a psychiatrist after all, but something's bothering you. And if you want, I'm here to listen." Ivy layed on his chest, watching. She closed her eyes slightly when his fingers dug into her hair, brushing it gently. Oh god, he was hard to read.  
She usually didn't try to understand people. They were slaves or victims, enemies or colleagues, biomass, so why should she put effort into getting in their heads? However, he intriguied her. She heard what he put through all of his assigned doctors, never actually answering on their questions, usually pretending to be a therapist himself. Crane wore an emotionless mask most of the time and if there was anything showing off, it would be mocking, disgust and hatred. Well, at least before they started their little affair. Who would ever guess that if you bite his neck in the right place and brush his hip he could make such delicious little sounds? Every time she went here, there was something new to learn, would it be an emotion or a fact. His morning and evening rituals. Scarecrows favourite waffles were chocolate ones, with vanilla flavoured cream between the layers. After work he picked up a collection of poetry or looked through fresh science articles on his old computer. There was one mystery to uncover yet. That look. It started approximately two weeks ago and appeared in the morning, after sex. An odd cocktail of silent pain, tiredness and anger.   
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
He should've stayed quiet. Ivy bit down on his nipple, making him flinch and hiss from pain.   
"I'm no idiot, Crane. What's wrong? You act like you were diagnosed with cancer and have only few weeks left!" She didn't notice how loud she became. "And only after sex, too. You wake up in the middle of the night, loom over me for ten minutes and then go to bathroom or for a glass of water." She stopped, considering it. "Is it really cancer?"  
Man under her grunted, pushing her a bit, not enough to get her off.   
"God fuckin' damn it, Ah'm not seek! Just-" he closed his mouth, noticing how his accent started to show. She noticed it too, but didn't say anything. "Stop that shit. And never bite me there again!" The body under her tried to roll over and she got up, letting him. Isley hummed, digging in his hair with her nose, breathing in lime shampoo and a bittersweet toxin, patting his back. He fell silent, tickling her neck with his stubble, moving her closer.   
"Jonathan?"  
He froze like someone pressed a gun to his head.  
"Hm?"

"Don't be angry on me."

She felt that he sat up, glaring at her with those blue glass shards, puzzled expression on his face. Her fingertips lightly brushed his jawline and before he started mumbling something in return, doctor continued:  
"I'll admit, figuring that out took time, but nevertheless. You're mad. And probably upset." His lips became a thin line. "And I'm sorry for offending you somehow. Okay?" Her own kissed his forehead and she leaned back. Judging by his appearance, he was about to rip her into shreds. A normal person should have started running by now. The man before her was _The_ Scarecrow, after all. Naked, weaponless and kind of tired but still – The Scarecrow. She moved him closer, again nesting her nose in dark like crows feather locks. "Your new shampoo is pretty good."  
Psychiatrist hissed, his pupils turning into two small dots, and before she knew it, both of his hands dug up in her shoulders, pushing woman's body against the mattress in pure unfiltered rage.  
"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" there was a strange unwelcoming grin. "Oh, I'm sure _Poison Ivy_ has a dozen of other lovers in her sleeve, whom she uses and throws out like the garbage they are. You're did this whole speech only 'cause eventually I'm going to end up in the trash can like the rest. And what a speech it was too, so many feells, did you practice it?" The hiss changed into a roar. "Even remembered my real name! Even though you never used it before, but who cares? _Wanna be special?_ You think I'll have a breakdown when it's all over? Well, hate to brake it down to you, I'm not about to cry because of sex with a _**pompous bitch** _like you. Do I _owe_ you? Am I supposed to shut up and be happy because you chose me?" He could have said a lot more if two palms haven't been pressed against his neck. Everything went silent. He could feel that death was near and now Isley's going to strangle him or break his spine. Either were painful ways to pass away. They stared at each other for another minute or so, considering what should be the next move. Pamela sat up, getting his hands away from her body. _"She's leaving. She'll kill you and leave,"_ his mind said. Their noses and foreheads touched and he flinched.  
"No," her whispering was almost impossible to hear even with just centimetres between them. "I like you."  
Crane bit on his lower lip, felling the blood slowly flooding his mouth. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw her against the floor and expose all her stupid little lies, make her see that he understood everything, that she can end the game of pretend and laugh already. What could possibly be the reason for her to like him? He's a freak, a bastard, an insane (according to doctors at Arkham) scientist, that kills _her babies_ for his own experiments.   
"Why?" was the only thing he managed.   
"I like being with you," he felt how her hands lowered, lightly stroking his muscles, tension slowly leaving him. The good doctor finally gave up and lied down, closing his eyes, getting lost in those soft touches against his will. "You're smart, a pretty good talker. You pour me a cup of coffee every time I come here without any request. You let me shower first, even when I'm the last to wake up. Little things, you know?" She smiled to herself. "And you make the cutest sounds while cuddling."  
"No, I don't." Came the immediate response, only making her chuckle.  
"Let's imagine," he started, "that there's some parallel universe where you're telling the truth."   
"Yeah?"  
"And in that universe, that version of me would," he flinched, stopping. ~~_God, he sounded so stupid._~~ It's all so idiotic, why is he wasting both hers and his time on this? "He would say that he likes her too." **She should have choked him.**  
"Is that so?"  
If anyone else told her this, she would probably laugh at them. Did he steal that line from some book or was he legitimately capable of being so sweet? Odd as hell! But strangely sweet. Like an ugly looking candy from the bottom of a treak-or-treat bag. Her arms didn't stop moving as she considered her answer.  
"And what would happen next? In that supposed universe?"

He wasn't expecting her to say something, especially that. She didn't mock him. Didn't push him away and call some names. Just kept massaging, letting him lie on her soft chest, expecting a response. Now what is he supposed to do? He never should have voiced the damn thing out loud! She must think he's a hopeless romantic.   
"Next day she'd kiss him on a cheek, as always, and leave. Never coming back." Yes, it's a nice finish for that parody of a real conversation.   
It was her turn to be confused. Was it an attempt of getting rid of her? Should she be offended? Then why the hell is he still hadn't moved, hugging her like his life depended on it? Fuck, it's hard to understand this man. Sometimes he was adorable _~~(forbid anyone thinking it about the Master of Fear)~~_ , other times she wanted to beat him up with her bare hands or throw him out the window. And at this moment she was somewhere in the middle.  
"I wasn't aware you're such a drama queen. Get some sleep, will ya?"   
Scarecrow blinked, eying her suspiciously, how a straight dog looks at the offered human palm. Alright, maybe he actually was cute. Years ago, on one of their meet ups, Harley pointed at a man, sitting on the other side of the room, and told her: "That's professa. He's kinda a goofball, very smart guy, but hates people and has some trust issues.". Back then, she wasn't really interested. The "rogues gallery", as news called them, was at the beginning small and dangerous. Pamela didn't really want to be seen as other madman, her role as a criminal was unknown and she did little to identify it. She heard of him, he heard of her, they exchanged familiarities and never spoke again. However, now her friends words made sense to her. Even for a criminal, Crane had trouble being open about anything regarding himself. And she was his lover for two whole months! Judging by his earlier tirade, it didn't mean what she thought it should. Really, why weren't they done yet? He's an annoying son of a bitch psychiatrist, who has a thing for mentally torturing people. Nevertheless, here he is, in her arms, exposed, soft, defenceless. She can totally kill him. If she waits a few weeks more, it would be even easy, because he'd relax after this conversation. And the longer Ivy thought about it, the more unappealing idea become. _She doesn't want him dead._ Moreover, she would be _**upset**_ if he died! This realisation hit her like a boulder to the head. **_Fucking Crane._**  
"I've a day off tomorrow." It cane out too suddenly. He stared at her, almost half asleep when she decided to break the silence.   
"And?"  
"And it's going to be pouring all morning. My home is on the other end of the town, it would be impossible to get there even by subway."  
Scarecrow hummed, adjusting himself under the covers.   
"Well, I'm not that kind of sadist. You can stay as much as you like."  
Tips of her lips curled up into a faint smile.   
"I'd very much like that."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it's too cheesy XD  
> Heard this song and couldn't help myself


End file.
